The Dance
by svenka
Summary: Farfarello has taken an interested in a certain Weiss, but what good can possibly come of his strange fascination?
1. The Dance

**The Dance **

Any comments/critiques/signs of life would be extremely appreciated. It's nice to know when people read, even/especially if you didn't like it :)

Disclaimer: I don't own anybody in Weiss Kreuz. And until I get myself a rich sugardaddy and go buy them, I'm stickin' with that story.

-----

He didn't know when he first stopped trying to stab the man, and first started trying to get close to him, just to feel the other's warmth against his skin, but now he couldn't imagine their time spent any other way.

He liked to think that it wasn't sexual… like it was more of a game. Like tag. Dodge this, parry that, and suddenly their thighs were touching; but only for the briefest moment, and then the dance began again.

Farfarello liked the way he smelled. Blood and Cigarettes. It was strange, because Schuldig smelled the same, in a way, although there was something missing from the red-head. Maybe it was the fact that the former's haughty look so easily turned to one of pain… a pain that Farfarello didn't really understand. Was it loss? He wondered if he himself had carried that look long ago, after his family's sudden departure.

His faux family. But that was another story for another day, and right now, he wanted nothing more than to play this game with the blond in front of him. Crawford's gun popped playfully behind him, Aya rolled with a thud into the wall in an effort to dodge; Schuldig had Ken in a headlock off to the side, filling the boy's head with unimaginable horrors; Nagi had Omi in a sort of gentle mental embrace, pushed up against the bricks; and Farfarello… well, he got to play with Yohji.

It was so rare that he got this special chance. Usually Schuldig liked to play with the blond, and although Farfarello couldn't blame him, he found it increasingly hard to pay attention to his current opponent when the sound of the German's gun kept cutting through the air, making Farf wonder if maybe _this_ time, Kudou hadn't been agile enough to escape its blast.

But he always was, and now, Farfarello had his chance. Balinese's wire cut through the air in a series of wide arcs, trying to cover as much square footage as possible. Farfarello's fighting style was sporadic, spontaneous, and the wide arcs revealed the fact that Yohji had absolutely _no_ idea where the Irishman was going to go next. Farf liked it that way. When Yohji was at the peak of his performance, his green eyes lit up, and his cheeks got the faintest reddish tint. And here, he was almost to that point.

Farfarello felt something deep move inside him at the idea, and he made a quick circle around the nearest wire, moving closer, closer to his target. Yes, he wanted to see him up close when he reached that peak. He felt cool metal move against his shoulder, and he moved away just in time to see a smaller circle of wire remove his sleeve and cut a small gash in his skin. He moved fluidly away from that attack, the rolling blood filling him with a surge of euphoria, and suddenly he was much closer to Yohji than he'd ever intended. Farfarello's hand brushed the blond's shoulder. Their legs crossed. His knife, bright and hungry, reached too close for that sweet spot in his opponent's elegant neck. The one that would end it all.

He could see the look of surprise in Yohji's too-wide eyes. The body stiffening, looking for an escape, and finding none. The split-second change in that expression, when Yohji knew he was going to die. And then, accepting it. All of this happened in a moment, with Farfarello's knife swinging in close for that finishing blow, their bodies dancing around and toward each other.

And then, the dance crashed to a screeching halt. Farfarello jerked violently, twisting his arm around, his shoulder slamming against Yohji's chest, pushing them both backwards. And he could feel the wires, which leapt up invisibly around him, tightening swiftly around his neck.

Oh, how easily the tables turned.

Farfarello felt his last breath escape him before his airway closed completely, and he found himself face to face with Yohji, who held the wires tight on either side. Even in his closing vision, he could see the confusion apparent on the other man's face.

Farfarello stared up at him, that one amber eye still blazing, and realized the dance had finally reached its last movement. It looked like Yohji was leading, after all. He grinned slightly, dropping his knife and bringing his hands up to ghost his fingers along Yohji's flushed lips. If this was the end, he wanted something meaningful to get him through his burning eternity in Hell. He brought the face forward, pressing those full lips lightly against his own.

His face felt like it was burning, but not in a bad way, and it felt as though life were returning to his suffocated body. Such was the power of a kiss, he supposed, although this was his first experience with such.

When they finally drew away, he felt dizzy, and was forced to take a deep breath to steady himself. …Wait… A deep breath? He could… breathe? He took another, and noticed his sight was widening again. Yohji was about three feet away, holding his wire in attack mode, and casting quick, nervous glances at his teammates. Farfarello looked around as well, noting that everyone seemed to be lost in their own battle. No, nobody had noticed their near brushes with death, or Farfarello's… victory.

Farfarello felt his neck where the wire had cut into it, and then reached up and touched a finger to his lips. They still tingled softly. Yohji's eyes were on him, now, but neither of them moved an inch, whether to dance or flee.

And Farfarello wanted him.

He wanted him so badly, it hurt. And this pain… this pain, he'd never experienced before. He wanted to get closer to him. To touch him. To tear him apart.

Crawford's mental voice cut through the thick silence between them, calling his team away, and Farfarello obliged, fleeing the scene without so much as a backwards glance.

When they reached the car, he felt… lighter, somehow.

"Hey Farf, where's yer knife?" Schuldig purred, casting an arm around his thin shoulders.

Well, shit.

"You didn't leave it, did you?"

"Nn. Yeah," Farfarello sighed, mentally berating himself.

"What? But you never let that thing out of your sight," Nagi exclaimed in a half-interested tone from the front seat of the jeep.

"Got sidetracked," Farfarello murmured, receding back into his own thoughts behind a barrier far too thick for Schuldig's jeering mental tendrils.

----

To be continued?  
Comments/crits/random stuff thrown in my direction is VERY appreciated. Thanks!  
Jei S.

Note: I have a second part nearly finished, but due to its... exotic... nature, I won't be posting it here. If you'd like to read, please track me down on AFF under jeisvenka instead :)


	2. Compression

**Compression**

Note: Due to its exotic nature, the second chapter couldn't be posted here. While it's not absolutely necessary to read that chapter, there are a few things that might make more sense in the long run. To read it, look on AFF under the name jeisvenka or on my livejournal under jeidar.

(Edit: Sorry, I didn't noticed that FF did weird things. I apologize to anyone who tried to read this with the **entire fic underlined**. Urgh.)

----------

It had been a while since their first encounter.

It had been a while since their second, as well.

Farfarello murmured softly to himself, feet planted firmly against the door of his room, his back pressed securely against the concrete (they'd long-since taken out his carpet).

There were sounds filtering in underneath the door. Sounds that probably meant something big was going to happen, but he didn't particularly care. No, not really.

Something flittered softly inside of him, like dying insects leaping against his ribs, and he wondered if, before a mission, it was common to feel this… detached. Did he usually care? The insects said yes, but he wasn't so sure anymore.

Their encounter. Their moment.

That mattered.

The doorknob rattled and he felt pressure against his legs, but he pushed back hard, keeping the door in place. He could feel the rustle of confusion on the other side. It wasn't like he could pull anything in front of the door. His lonely bed was bolted in place, and he had no other furniture. A small mental tendril pressed against his consciousness. Schuldig. He brushed it away.

The small window on his door snapped open, and two watery blue eyes stared down at him.

"What the hell is this?" the redhead fussed, half-entertained, half-annoyed, as was his usual frame of mind.

"Don't wanna go," Farfarello sighed, turning his head to the side, away from those prodding eyes and that prodding telepathic mind. Visual contact equaled stronger mental bond, and he really didn't care to have Schuldig in his head right now.

There was a long pause, and then, with real confusion, "Are you serious?"

"Uh-huh."

Another long pause, and the window slid shut with a snap. Farfarello rolled his eye up to stare at the window, as if, by force of will, he could keep it securely shut. But no, that would be far too easy. Members of Schwarz didn't get out of jobs by force of will. Or by any other force. Well, except maybe death, and even then, there was a chance you'd still have to come back and finish the job.

He didn't need Crawford's precognitive abilities to see what would happen next. He braced himself against the blast he knew was coming, and sure enough…

The door flew open, sending him sliding across the floor and smashing into the opposite wall. Nagi stood in the doorway, arms outstretched, mentally keeping his white-haired teammate in place, a look of near-apology on his small face.

Crawford didn't dare step in right away (the man wasn't stupid), but Farfarello could already feel his presence, looming around the corner, a scowl twisting at that would-be-pretty mouth.

And sure enough, after Farfarello's overwhelming killing urge had ebbed ever so slightly, their leader stepped around the doorway into the room, his face a perfect match of Farfarello's mental image. And of course, the gun. Pointed at him.

"Get up," he said softly. Dangerously. Farfarello couldn't care less.

"Don't feel like it," the white-haired Irishman said, equally softly. Once he felt Nagi's mental fingers drift away, he pulled himself into a sitting position against the wall, arms at his sides.

"You don't get a choice."

"Seems like I get one," Farfarello grinned, staring into the gun barrel.

"This job is important, Farfarello. I need you there."

"Then you probably shouldn't kill me," he said, his pouty mouth twitching upwards slightly at the corners.

Crawford paused for a moment, his eyes suddenly hidden behind a wall of light reflecting off his glasses. His finger fiddled absent-mindedly with the trigger, an insignificant habit that usually meant nothing for a normal shooter, but Farfarello could practically see the visions flowing into his leader's mind, telling him the best course of action.

And that's why Crawford would win. Farfarello knew he would win.

He knew exactly which buttons to push for the best effect. Which limbs to sever. Which possessions to burn. Which people to kill.

And suddenly, Bradly's eyes were boring deep into Farfarello's, as if he could pull the answers to the universe from that single golden orb.

"Do you not want to kill anymore?" Crawford asked slowly, as if the very phrasing of the question could determine the outcome of this spat.

Farfarello's eye rolled up as he thought. The insects scratched and leapt against his insides. "Yeah, I do," he grinned.

"Do you just not want to kill _now_?"

The insects were drilling holes through his gut, but there was something else. Something that almost made him ignore the insects and their vicious hunger.

It had been a while since their encounter.

He could almost feel the way the blond's hands had moved against his skin...

Something new shimmered against his ribcage. Something that felt less like decay and ruin, and more like… feathers? Like wings moving against his breastbone, brushing the insects away. Like wings that stirred something strange inside him. Moved him. He didn't like it.

The Irishman held out his hand, and his leader smiled, grabbing it and pulling the man to his feet.

"Shall we?" Crawford asked, returning his gun to its holster.

"Uhn," Farfarello grunted, allowing the insects to slowly devour those disgusting wings, until they no longer beat a rhythm against his chest. Gone.

At least, he hoped they were gone.

If he knew anything, he knew that these things had a way of coming back to haunt you.

Gone. Asleep. Waiting. Resting.

Oh well, at least the insects were happy.

He sneered sadistically at his two teammates, who backed up a step in spite of themselves, and then followed Crawford out the door.


	3. Connection

**Connection**

Maybe it was just his imagination, but Yohji had a distinct feeling that the air had turned a tad bit colder when he walked into the room.

Yes, definitely his imagination.

It was also probably his imagination that his teammates had been acting strangely ever since he'd gotten home from his… encounter… a few days ago.

But the encounter could've been his imagination, too. The whole thing could've just been one huge hallucination. In fact, Yohji having hallucinations made MUCH more sense than what his brain actually recalled from that night.

Yohji looked over to Omi, trying to reassure himself, only to find those big blue eyes quickly averted from his own. A shiver crawled across his skin, raising goose bumps in its wake.

"Tch," Ken clucked, and Yohji turned to face him. Ken, unlike Omi, didn't have the kindness to avert his eyes, which boiled and seethed under those long lashes.

They knew.

It hit him like a ton of bricks, and he swayed slightly, trying not to look like he was gasping for air. How… how was he going to explain something like this to them? He couldn't even explain it to _himself_! And now that he thought about it, of _course_ they knew. Kritiker had eyes everywhere, and he and… his partner… had definitely made a scene, rushing into the hotel like that.

"How _could_ you?" Ken spat finally, as if unable to contain his rage any longer. Yohji grimaced, feeling drowned by the sudden flood of emotion from his comrade. Would he have to leave Weiss? Kritiker? Run away somewhere? Would they _let_ him run away somewhere?

"Listen, I-"

"Ken!" Omi cried, jumping from his seat, "It's okay, I'm sure he has a good rea-"

"_A good reason_?!" Ken , his face purple with anger, "How on earth could he possibly explain-"

"I CAN!" Yohji yelled, and silence swelled around him like a bubble. "See, after the mission, I started drinking a lot, and-"

"Drinking a lot!" Ken choked out, laughing spitefully.

Omi walked over, a fake smile plastered on his face, cutting off Ken by standing in between him and Yohji. "I said," he said slowly, pointedly, "It's okay. I'll have another birthday next year."

Yohji was shocked into silence.

"And besides," the boy added, "you look honestly guilty about the whole affair, which is more than I can say about Aya. So really. It's okay."

Still untrusting of his own vocal chords, the tall blond merely nodded dumbly.

Omi looked over his shoulder at Ken, who also nodded, although his face was still tinged a blistering red.

Omi's birthday.

The kid had turned 18the night after the mission. In the grand scheme of things, it had completely slipped his mind.

He plopped down onto the mission room couch, mixed feelings of shame and relief coursing through his veins.

Omi smiled again and made his way back to the computer in the corner. Ken slumped against the wall, crossing his arms to show that no, he hadn't forgiven his teammate yet.

They sat there in silence, Omi's fingers madly working away at the keyboard, waiting for Manx. She'd called earlier with a rush mission. Something of grave importance. Be right over, she'd said.

That was almost an hour ago.

"It isn't April Fools Day, is it?" Ken grumbled after several minutes, looking up at the clock on the wall.

"It's the middle of November, Ken," Omi said helpfully, unaware of the passage of time as he tapped away at the keys.

There was a crash above, and all three of them leapt to their feet, instantly ready for action. Something rustled against the door, and it burst open into a bright wave of colored paper and florescent ribbon that shocked the assassins' senses into stillness.

Manx made her way carefully down the stairs, breathless, her face appearing from behind two huge packages, "Somebody take these. They weigh a ton. And there are a couple more in the car, along with some other things."

"Oh Manx, you shouldn't have!" Omi exclaimed, surprised.

"Shouldn't have what?" she asked, raising a flaming red eyebrow as they pulled the packages from her grasp. She wasn't kidding; they were _heavy_. Yohji plopped his beside the other one on the small table. "OH!" she exclaimed suddenly, pulling a much smaller package from her purse. "Happy birthday, Omi-kun. Your 18th, right? This is for you."

Omi tried not to look crestfallen as he accepted the tiny gift and pulled it apart to reveal… another earring, identical to last year's. And the year's before. "Uh... Thanks, Manx."

"Don't mention it," she said dismissively, and moved across the room to pat a large, sparkling package with her hand. "_These_ are for the mission."

"We're crashing a party?" Ken asked, grimacing. He hated getting dressed up.

"Kind of," Manx grinned, and Ken's expression fell to match Omi's. "You're going to…" She paused, looking around the small room, her eyes adjusting to the darkness before they narrowed dangerously, "Where's Abyssinian?"

"Dunno," Ken said, shrugging. "He hasn't popped up since before Omi's birthday party. You know, the one we'd been planning for _months_." Yohji looked away, feeling the brunette's glare biting into the side of his head.

Manx shook her head, frowning, "Well, we can't wait. Yes, you'll be crashing a party. But not as regular attendees, and not at a normal party…"

--

"I LOOK LIKE A FUCKING MONKEY."

Yohji's cheeks and sides were aching from the force of his laughter, although the outfit made it slightly harder to express.

"I think that's the point, Ken," Omi said, not even trying to mask his pleasure.

Yohji's outfit, a bright fox costume, was currently incomplete. Skin-tight stretchy orange fox suit with white tummy, check. Fuzzy tail, check. Insanely adorable black leather gloves with soft pink fuzzy pads and claws, check. Insanely adorable black leather boots with claws, check. Incredibly hot and suffocating porcelain fox mask, uncheck.

"Can't I just paint my face or something?" Yohji asked for the nth time, glaring down at the thing.

"No," Manx said plainly from somewhere behind him, where she was seated on the couch. "It was expensive, as well as required to get into the party, even if you are esteemed and expected guests."

Ken pulled at his brown suit, trying to get the fabric to lie in less revealing position, his long tail swaying behind him.

"Why can't we just make this a normal mission? Rush, slash, and run?" he griped, giving up and instead grabbing a long brown coat to hide himself, his monkey mask grinning up at him from the sofa.

"Top security," Omi chimed in, reading over the file. "Apparently he hasn't left his house for over twenty years, instead conducting his business through telephone and email. He's untouchable, this guy."

"Yes, until now," Manx smiled, turning her eyes away from Yohji's ass before she got caught. "He's opening his home for a party. He has… strange tastes, I admit. But this is too good of an opportunity for your pride to get in the way."

"And those?" Omi asked, walking gracefully over to the bright packages, his fluffy tail bobbing along after him, sparkling with some of the glitter that fell from his shimmering, pure white cat outfit.

"Those are your tickets into the back rooms. Your target will be watching, not participating in the party… until he sees those."

"And what are they, exactly?" Yohji asked, tilting his head to the side.

Manx's smile widened, "Bricks, mostly."

Their eyes bulged slightly, Ken tripping over his own ridiculous monkey feet and landing with a thud.

"Bricks that the company will _think_ are… some special entertainment equipment. Like I said, your target has strange tastes. His men won't dare check the load, although you need to be prepared if they do. The only one that actually carries something of value is this one," she said, gesturing to a mid-sized silver package. Omi, after much discussion, would carry the silver one. Because it matched his costume.

Aya's costume lay in a bright red pile beside a glowing yellow package, the mask smiling up in a calm and knowing manner as they filed from the room, all carrying their respective packages, Omi still voicing his disapproval at their method of choosing him to be the silver one's bearer.

--

It was a long, arduous ride to the party. The stretchy fabric kept riding up into his nether regions, and from the way his teammates were squirming, they were having similar difficulties. It seemed especially laborious to Omi, who was taking special care not to squish his tail as he worked the car's pedals.

As they neared the location, the buildings became more spread out, revealing more grass, trees… and mansions. And the more spread-out the houses became, sitting proudly on wider plots, the more glamorous the mansions turned out to be. Until, at last, it appeared, glowing and foaming with people, all clothed as animals, all wearing the same quality of porcelain critter mask, and all in a state of relative undress. Even without looking, Yohji knew Ken and Omi were blushing, and they donned their masks in unison.

Omi pulled the car up to a masked woman in a high-thighed, dangerously low cut black and silver canine outfit, the tag of her collar bouncing and clinking against her chest at every movement as she opened their car door. Another canine, as apparently all the servants were black and silver canines, led them up the steps, wrestling Ken's coat from his shoulders, and ushered them into a throbbing throng of dancing, scantily-clad but well-formed figures. Yohji gripped his bright blue package tightly, glancing out from behind his sneering fox mask, and looked down at Omi. Omi needed to lead the way, in case their merchandise was checked.

In the manner of a true pro, Omi picked his way around the side of the room, as per the map in their file, and up the stairs on the far side, Ken and Yohji flanking him on either side. When they reached the top, a couple of Doberman-dressed guards held out their hands and thoroughly frisked them for weapons, and then they were inside. The back room was dark and warm, not nearly as airy as downstairs, and Yohji could feel the beads of sweat slowly slipping down across his cheeks to be absorbed in his fluffy orange collar. Inside, another Doberman pulled the silver package from Omi's grip, as it was the closest to where he was standing, and tore into it violently.

Inside, a number of shiny objects could be seen, but they were immediately tucked back into the box by the guard dog and shoved back into Omi's hands. He grunted slightly, motioning them forward again, and they found themselves suddenly in a large bedroom, filled floor to ceiling with television screens. They were all arranged in a circle around a central point.

The bed.

It was glamorous, as was the rest of the mansion, overflowing with excess pillows and blankets. And stuffed animals.

The darkness of the room reflected against the dead eyes of the stuffed toys, and Yohji was so dumbfounded for a moment that he almost overlooked the central figure.

It was a panda. Or at least, he thought it was a panda. The huge porcelain mask grinned back at him from the darkness, and the white spots stood out starkly, stretched against a mass that was moving slowly under the force of its breaths.

So this was the guy. A dangerous guy, whom they had to kill. Sitting in the middle of the bed, surrounded by stuffed animals, dressed in a panda suit.

Honestly, Yohji felt sorry for the guy.

"Are those for me?" the creature asked, the mask muffling his voice.

"Are you… Master?" Omi asked, purring as best he could, per his instructions. The mask's grin appeared to spread wider, although Yohji was sure he was just imagining things.

"Indeed," came the low rumble, and the mass crawled to its feet.

The man wasn't nearly as huge as he'd appeared on the bed. The pattern on the panda suit and the mass of blankets made him seem several times larger. In fact, he was a relatively short individual, the top of his head covered by a fuzzy hood, no doubt hiding a number of bald patches.

"Let me se-" a hand shot out from the darkness, blocking Master from his presents. The panda mask looked across to see the source of its obstruction, and a new figured stepped out into the light. It was a jaguar, although the suit was far more classy and far less revealing than what everyone else was wearing. Two more bodies stepped out into the light from various directions, and Master, finally having understood, backed up into the shadows of the room.

Yohji could feel their chance slipping away, and lunged toward the small man, only to be knocked backwards by some invisible force. Two other loud thumps sounded beside him, and he knew his teammates had both tried the same thing. Their target was going to get away. They were going to fail their mission.

"Oh look, only three kittens tonight," came a low, nasally purr, emitted from behind the mask of a jackal. This suit was much more revealing, hugging close to all the right places.

A chuckle, "I'm glad you think so. I did try _so_ hard to look my best."

And then it hit him, and from the gasps of his teammates, them too. "Schwarz," Ken hissed, and they were instantly on their feet.

"Only three. That should make it much easier," the jaguar said haughtily. Crawford.

Yohji looked over at Omi, who was staring into the darkness to their left. A glittering black outline caught his attention, and he was struck by the irony of the young Schwarz' costume.

A black cat.

Omi wheeled, flinging out darts from hidden places in the costume, and Nagi mirrored him, their tails swaying obediently behind them as they pitched themselves toward each other.

Ken lashed out at Crawford, who stepped back to let Schuldig handle his fight, instead walking off in the direction of their employer, and Yohji sped off after him into the darkness, which turned out to be a hidden escape hatch planted into the wall.

The hall was lit by a dim light running along the carpeted floor, and numerous animal masks grinned out at him from the walls, their faces grotesque and distorted by the light. It seemed to go on forever, and a slight feeling of nausea began to creep up into his stomach as the masks quickly moved past him.

The hall was curving, going downwards, deeper into the earth, and slowly, slowly getting wider. At last, when he thought the damned thing would never end, it opened up into a strategically lit underground room, at least the size of a baseball field, filled to the brim with all sorts of pleasure and pain devices. Even from where he was standing at the entrance, Yohji could smell the thick scent of blood, which added to his increasing nausea. He briefly considered removing his mask, but in that short amount of time there was a loud crack, and something _pinged_ against the mask's cheek. The mask splintered slightly, but didn't break, having been hit by the bullet at just the right angle, and Yohji hit the ground, crawling toward the nearest shelter, which happened to be a large cross with bloodstained leather cuffs. The ground was sticky. Yohji felt the bile rising in his throat, but he was a trained professional. He could take it. He could always take it.

And then, suddenly, his shoulder exploded into white-hot pain, sparks of light filling his vision even as he bit his lip to keep from crying out. He needed to move. Now. But his limbs didn't seem willing, and the added pain to his nausea made him teeter on the edge of consciousness, his brain simply shutting down to defend him from the experience.

Something cold snapped around his neck, and he twisted, lashing out as he was lifted, choking, into the air. The haze in his mind cleared long enough to see the grotesque panda mask smiling up at him, its owner at least a head shorter than Yohji, but tall enough to fasten the leather cuffs around Yohji's wrists.

"The fox… it was always my favorite…" the man rasped, his fingers trembling with excitement. Yohji looked around for his teammates, and, seeing none, for Crawford, who also seemed to have disappeared into thin air. This couldn't be happening. Not to Yohji. He'd always planned to die a painful death, but this was ridiculous.

A panda. He was going to be killed by a fucking _panda_.

Something sharp bit into his thigh, and he closed his eyes to it, grimacing with the pain, but otherwise making no noise.

"My little vixen hasn't found his voice yet? Well, we'll soon fix that… Foxes are notoriously shy creatures, after all…" Yohji kept his eyes closed, willing the sound of the man's voice away, trying to keep happy memories in his mind before the end. Ken playing soccer with the kids. Omi delicately arranging flowers. Aya… well, being Aya. And…

His breath caught in his throat. Farfarello. Jei. _His_ Jei. At least, for that one night, the man was his. And now? God only knows.

Yohji heard some rustling in front of him, and a low grunt as the man pulled his own clothes off, running his fingers down along Yohji's body, making the skin squirm in its wake. Yohji kept his eyes shut.

Then, as if propelled forward by some magnet, "Master's" body jumped flat against his, shivering warmly with excitement.

Warmly. Excitement? Yohji felt his "excitement" oozing its way down the leg of his costume. But that was too quick for-

His eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring into a completely placid mask. No grin. No sneer. No frown. Expressionless and passive, although the corners of the mask's canine eyes were turning up slightly in a sort of amusement.

Yohji's eyes strayed down, and he found himself faced with a grinning panda mask, although this time there were flecks of red mixed in with the black and white.

The canine jerked slightly, pulling out a small, easily concealed dagger, and the panda fell to the floor in a heap. Yohji could feel the darkness tugging at his consciousness, even as the leather straps were cut from his wrists, and the chain around his neck broken apart by sturdy fingers.

"Mine," growled the white wolf softly, burying its cold nose into Yohji's neck. "Mine."

--

Aya frowned, looking disdainfully at the video screen.

"That was a bit too dramatic, don't you think?" he said sternly, turning away as the white wolf carried his unconscious prize off-screen, away from the wreckage.

A figure shrugged in the darkness. "I would've tried harder, if you'd worn the outfit…" it purred.

"I'm not dressing up as a squirrel, Crawford. Not even for you."

The jaguar moved into the light of the video screen, dragging its claws down across Aya's chest. "Not even for me?"

There was a long pause, and the claws went lower.

"Well…" a sharp intake of breath. "Maybe. Next time."

"Nnn…"

--

END

A/n: I hope that made sense XD I'm a wee bit tired haaha. Maybe I'll tweak it later. Please leave comments/crits/flames/hate mail! I love love love signs of life


End file.
